Posted by Cat on June 17, 2015

Teens already have plenty to read in preparation for the next school year, so nonrequired reading should be majorly entertaining. From big laughs to creepy thrillers, we've selected the best new YA books to keep teens reading all summer long:

For summertime at its best:

Proof of Foreverby Lexa Hillyer
Hillyer's debut is perfect for a super-lazy summer day. When four friends reunite after drifting apart for years, a novelty photobooth sends the girls back in time to their last summer at camp, where they relive those sunkissed days and get a second chance at saving what has been lost. Read more>>>

The Porcupine of Truth by Bill Konigsberg
Konigsberg has a knack for balancing hilarity and real emotion, and his latest novel is no exception. New Yorker Carson and his psychologist mother are spending the summer in Billings, Montana, to care for Carson’s estranged, dying father. Then he meets Aisha, gay and cast out by her own father. Add a road trip plus plenty of quirky jokes, and you've got a great summer read. Read more>>>

For creepy thrills:

Cuckoo Song by Frances Hardinge
Ugh, sunshine. How about something a little darker? Hardinge's new novel is a fantastic work of horror without skimping on elegant prose. When Triss awakes from an accident, she's insatiably hungry and her parents are terrified of her, and yet she can't remember what happened. Cuckoo Song has creepy dolls and changelings so horrifying it'll make your skin crawl, and then you've got a nuanced exploration of post-WWII grief. This is horror at its best. Read more>>>

The Walls Around Usby Nova Ren Suma
Suma consistently blows us away with her unsettling tales and gorgeous writing, and we were rewarded with everything we wanted from this ghost story. After being convicted of murdering her abusive stepfather, Amber was sent to Aurora Hills, a juvenile detention facility, where she becomes roommates with Ori. Ambitious, Julliard-bound ballerina Vee was once Ori's best friend. The unraveling of these girls' darkest secrets is shocking, suspenseful and so, so good. Read more>>>

For swoon-worthy romance:

The Wrath and the Dawnby Renée Ahdieh
In this lush romance set in the historical Persian empire of Khorasan and inspired by One Thousand and One Nights, the courageous Shahrzad volunteers to marry the Caliph of Khorasan after her best friend becomes one of his murdered brides. But it seems there's something more to the Caliph—and soon her feelings start to grow. There's so much to enjoy about this kickass heroine. Read more>>>

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas
Maas kicks off a new series full of faeries and curses and lusty glances. Our heroine here is a bit of a damsel, but she's got an edge to her, and nothing will stop her when love is on the line. It's much spicier than her popular Throne of Glass series, so this one will be best suited to teens ages 14 and up. Read more>>>

For big laughs:

Nimona by Noelle Stevenson
Based on her award-winning webcomic, Stevenson's riotous graphic novel is set in a medieval society with both old-world magic and high-tech gadgets. Nimona wants to be the sidekick to Ballister Blackheart, “the biggest name in supervillainy.” Go ahead—bust a gut. It's hilarious. Read more>>>

Hold Me Closerby David Levithan
So you loved John Green and Levithan’s collaboration Will Grayson, Will Grayson (didn't EVERYONE?), and you were especially obsessed with the openly gay character Tiny. Now you can finally read Tiny's musical in its entirety. "Funny" doesn't even begin to describe it. Read more>>>

For supernatural adventure:

Undertow by Michael Buckley
Debut author Buckley serves up a major dose of action and entertainment in this sci-fi thriller set on Coney Island, renamed "Fish City" after the arrival of the Alpha, strange creatures from the ocean. Read more>>>

Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard
In the magical, feuding lands of Norta, Red-blooded commoners serve the Silver-blooded elite, who possess superhuman abilities. But when Red-blooded Mare discovers her own powers, the entire rigid class system is thrown into chaos. This will satisfy readers' thirst for dystopia while exceeding their expectations. Read more>>>

Posted by Jill Ratzan on May 05, 2015

May is a great month for mothers and daughters to celebrate each another's company—and that includes reading together! Here are four great choices for moms to read alongside their teens, or to share in mother-daughter book clubs. With themes like female identity, competing conceptions of beauty, mothers who are absent (or overly present) and even a bit of magic, these young adult picks are sure to spark interesting discussions. (Of course, these books can also be enjoyed by mothers and sons. Or fathers and daughters. Or fathers and sons. Or anyone who likes a great read!)

1. Seeing visions: Glory O'Brien's History of the Future by A.S. King

Glory's mother, a talented photographer, killed herself when Glory was in preschool. Now about to graduate from high school, Glory, a photographer in her own right, reopens her mother's basement darkroom for the first time. Through her mother's photography notebooks, Glory hopes to learn more about her mother, what drove her to her terrible decision . . . and how much like or unlike her mother she herself might be. Her friend Ellie's complicated relationship with her own mother adds a parallel storyline.

Glory O'Brien's History of the Future is a multilayered, genre-defying book; it's also about the changing dynamics of teenage friendship, the uncertainty of post-high school plans and the dark and bizarre glimpses of a misogynist, dystopian future that Glory and Ellie begin to see after drinking a petrified bat (really). It's a story about images and visions and how what you see depends on how you look. But at its heart, it's a story about women's relationships with each other: as members of society, as friends and as mothers and daughters.

2. Renegotiating roles: Just One Day by Gayle Forman

As was the case with Glory O'Brien's History of the Future, Just One Day doesn't fit neatly into one genre category. The first half of the book follows recent high school graduate Allyson on a whirlwind one-day summer tour of Paris with Willem, a young man she's just met. The second half takes place during Allyson's first year at college. Allyson's always been satisfied to go along with her mother's color-coded schedules and neatly-designed plans, but Willem's spontaneity has shaken her expectations and her desires.

As her mom continues to arrange her future, Allyson faces the need to stand up for herself as a person with interests and hopes of her own. But their newly emerging roles go both ways: Just as Allyson asks her mother to understand her motivations better, her mother asks the same of her newly adult daughter.

Moms and daughters who want to know more about Allyson and Willem can also read Forman's follow-up novel Just One Year and concluding short story "Just One Night."

3. Redefining beauty: Beauty Queens by Libba Bray

Unlike the two previous books, mothers are barely present in Bray's imaginative, highly feminist, almost over-the-top Beauty Queens. Most of the book takes place on a desert island populated exclusively (at least at first) by teenage beauty contestants marooned there after a plane crash.

This Lord of the Flies-like premise allows Bray to explore intersections of gender, race and sexuality in an environment quite different from everyday society. Throughout, readers are invited to wrestle with questions related to society's expectations of women and girls: What constitutes beauty? What ideals should women aim to meet, and what happens when they choose other paths? And who counts as a 'woman,' anyway?

4. Learning who you are: The Folk Keeper by Franny Billingsley

Like Glory O'Brien's History of the Future, Franny Billingsley's The Folk Keeper features a long-dead mother whose presence is continually felt. Like Just One Day, it's about a daughter learning to define the direction her own life. And like Beauty Queens, it takes place in a unique setting that's central to its story.

Orphaned Corinna is confident in her identity as a folk keeper: a boy (Corinna cuts her hair and disguises her clothes to look the part) who lives in cellars and protects country homes from mischievous faeries. But when a dying patriarch sends her to her family's ancestral home, Corinna begins to learn secrets about herself and her new surroundings. Many of these secrets revolve around her mother, the mysterious Lady Rona, whose death still haunts the cliffside estate.

Scottish legends, magical abilities and budding romance interweave in this quiet, introspective novel, told in the form of entries in Corinna's journal-like Folk Record. Although theoretically published for middle grade readers, The Folk Keeper is in many ways the perfect YA novel: It's about power, gender, identity and the interplay between who you're born as and who you choose to become. It's also a perfect read for mothers and daughters who want to ask . . . and maybe even answer . . . these questions together.

What are some of your favorite YA mother-daughter reads?

Locker Combinations is a Book Case feature by BookPage contributor and young adult (YA) literature expert Jill Ratzan. Using a variety of literary, cultural and educational perspectives, Jill guest blogs about the latest in YA lit and the general direction, trends and changes of the field. Read more BookPage reviews, interviews and posts by Jill here.

Posted by Cat on April 24, 2015

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the Armenian genocide during World War I, when approximately 1.5 million Armenians were killed from 1915 to 1923. YA author Dana Walrath is the granddaughter of survivors of the Armenian genocide—which, as she writes in a guest blog post below, is "a genocide that continues through denial." Her powerful novel-in-verse, Like Water on Stone (2014), uses alternating voices to tell of three siblings’ flight from these atrocities. To commemorate this anniversary, Walrath draws us into her research and heritage, and offers more reading suggestions for those who wish to bring this bit of history to the surface.

Guest post by Dana Walrath

Place is always a character in a novel: It has a look, a history, a fragrance, distinct sounds. Places carry the memories and beliefs of their inhabitants. In Like Water on Stone, my verse novel about genocide and survival, the reader gets to know one of the world’s oldest places: Armenia.

I am the granddaughter of survivors of the Armenian genocide, a genocide that continues through denial, and so turns 100 this year. Growing up in New York, I never knew my Armenian mother’s parents, their language or the land that they called home. As a kid I once asked my mother about the childhood of her mother, Oghidar Troshagirian. I got the bare bones: Oghidar’s parents ran a mill in Palu; after her parents were killed she and Uncle Benny and Aunt Alice hid during the day and ran at night to an orphanage in Aleppo. Like Water on Stone put flesh on those bones, adding in a guardian spirit—an eagle—who protects the young ones on their journey. I wrote this story to find my grandmother, to find the Armenia in me.

In 1977, I traveled to Soviet Armenia with my parents and younger sister. There we met our cousins, descendants of Oghidar’s older brother, living on the other side of the Iron Curtain. Though by look and manner I seemed the average American, this trip woke up the Armenia in me.

In 1984, I traveled to the land where my grandparents were born, where 2 million other Armenians lived before the genocide—Eastern Turkey. Finding Palu, along the eastern branch of the Euphrates River, I traced my way to a mill. I did not know that this mill would eventually become the setting for Like Water on Stone. It took a dissertation’s worth of words in anthropology, complete with a social theory of genocide and its consequences, for me to start discovering the storyteller in me.

I returned to Armenia in 2012 as a Fulbright Scholar working on the anthropology of aging. My fieldwork gave me a score of grandparents who cheered for me when Random House acquired Like Water on Stone. Their stories, the meals we shared, the songs we sang and danced all found their place in the book.

This spring I’ve returned again to Armenia for the premiere of an animation of Like Water on Stone, created by a team of young people at Yerevan’s Tumo Center under the direction of my cousin Shushanik Droshakiryan, Oghidar’s great-grand-niece. I’m grateful to know my story will reach so many young people via this film.

I am also deeply grateful for my writer “cousins,” fellow Armenian Americans who also strive to reckon Armenia’s place in history, to tally the complexity and resilience of genocide survivors:

Dana Walrath in eastern Turkey, 1984

Eastern Turkey, 1984

Images from raw drawings that will be included in the animated film based on Like Water on Stone, created by two teen students at the Tumo center in Armenia.

Dana Walrath, writer, poet, artist, Fulbright Scholar and second generation Armenian, is committed to the movement for reconciliation between Turkey and Armenia. She believes an honest reckoning of history, apology and forgiveness is essential for healing and will help bring about peace in the future. Like Water on Stone is her first book for young readers. She lives in Vermont. For more information, visit her website: danawalrath.com

Posted by Cat on April 14, 2015

With his National Book Award-winning YA novel, Godless, Pete Hautman explored themes of religion and spirituality through the story of a church that worshipped a water tower—the perfect blend of weighty, provovative themes and a humorous premise. His new novel, Eden West, touches on similiar topics, this time through the story of a teen boy who belongs to an insular, secluded cult, and what happens when the outside world begins to creep in on his protected world. In a guest blog post, Hautman shares his thoughts on readers' fascinations with cults.

Guest post by Pete Hautman

Every few years some group of people who share an unconventional set of beliefs winds up in the news: The Branch Davidians. Heaven’s Gate. The Unification Church. Trekkies.* Because these groups are tiny and somewhat (ahem) peculiar, we call them “cults.”

This year, with the release of the HBO documentary Going Clear, the cult of the moment is Scientology—never mind that Scientology might not be a true “cult” (any more than it qualifies as a true religion). Our love of schadenfreude means that any excuse will do to put the sensational and pejorative word cult in a headline. (Did I just do that very thing? Yeah, I guess I did.)

But while the rest of us are congratulating ourselves for being comparatively normal, it’s easy to forget that these cults—or cult-like groups—are largely made up of smart, creative, well-intentioned individuals who are working hard to live good lives within a carefully constructed framework. The majority of cults don’t make the news. They are functional and largely invisible. And while most cults eventually self-destruct or wither away, a few groups with cultish origins—Christians, for example—have evolved to become accepted, mainstream religions.

Since nobody else was doing it, I wanted to write a story concerning a fictional cult that was functional—not your usual cults-are-evil-and-everybody-dies-in-the-end scenario. I wanted to write a love story.

Eden Weststarted out that way. A boy growing up in an odd, insular cult compound in Montana meets a girl from the other side of the 13-mile-long chain-link fence. Inside the compound, several dozen hard-working people are raising their families and waiting peacefully for the end of the world. I wanted my fictional “Eden West” to be idyllic and entirely functional—a sort of backdrop to a more personal story, that of one boy who becomes tainted by contact with the outside world.

As often happens, things fell apart. My carefully laid plan to write a simple love story set against the backdrop of a utopian cult turned out not to be so simple. During the 12 years it took to write, Eden West became the story of a world within a world, a world colliding with itself. Unforeseen events lead the young man, Jacob, to an unexpected series of epiphanies, each of which chisels away at the foundations of his reality. My little utopia imploded, my characters were swept into the resulting vortex, and the story went to places I had never intended to visit.

I learned a lot, and it turns out there’s a good reason why most cults separate themselves from the mainstream—most of them simply can’t survive close contact with the juggernaut of the conventional. Not even in fiction.

Posted by Jill Ratzan on April 13, 2015

To celebrate National Poetry Month, I've been taking a break from my regular young adult (YA) lit reading to listen to the audiobook How to Read and Understand Poetry by Willard Spiegelman. Spiegelman argues that the English language loves iambic pentameter—that is, Shakespeare's meter—and he even goes so far as to say that this meter is English's default setting . . . with some notable exceptions.

Well, standard prose is also YA lit's default setting . . . with some notable exceptions. Unusual narrative formats can sometimes seem like they exist only for the sake of novelty, but the four books below never feel like their formats are forced. Instead, their formats and content are perfectly matched.

1. YA lit told in alternating points of view

Changing narrators with each chapter is a common enough practice in contemporary YA lit. But what about changing narrators with each sentence? Especially when one narrator is talking in present time, and the other exists only as a sound recording?

Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher is often praised (and denounced) for its controversial content, a devastating account of a teen's decision to commit suicide. But its format is just as interesting. As teenage Clay listens to the audiotapes left behind by his classmate and crush Hannah, he adds his own running commentary, creating one of the most unusual dual-voice narratives in YA lit. As Hannah talks out of the past and Clay argues with her in the present, the conversation remains hauntingly one-sided: Clay can hear Hannah, but Hannah will never hear Clay.

2. YA lit told in the form of a musical script

YA lit has its share of heart-wrenching books, but it also has stories that make readers' hearts sing . . . literally. David Levithan's Hold Me Closer, a follow-up to the author's collaboration with John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson, is told entirely in the form of the script of an autobiographical musical penned by character Tiny Cooper. Dialogue and rhyming song lyrics carry most of the plot and characters, while setting and everything else is told through detailed stage directions. Because the book is written as if it's Tiny's own composition, his confident, hilarious voice can be heard throughout; Tiny "speaks" even when the words belong to other characters.

3. YA lit told in pictures

Even the title of Jessica Anthony and Rodrigo Corral's Chopsticks evokes choppiness. This tale of a lonely teenage musical prodigy and the attractive boy next door contains no narrative text at all. Instead, the story is told through a series of images, letters and other documents. While readers work hard to piece together the plot from these disconnected pieces, they're also being taunted by the creeping idea that what they're seeing may not be entirely true. How much of Glory's relationship with Frank is real, and how much is only in her head? The kaleidoscopic format is a perfect match for the increasingly disorienting content.

4. YA lit told in poetry

Novels in verse aren't a new idea in YA lit (or in literature in general —think of the Epic of Gilgamesh!), but every so often one comes along that's the perfect example of the form. Audacity by Melanie Crowder is a fictionalized account of the real life of Clara Lemlich, an early 20th-century Jewish labor union activist. Just as Clara has the audacity to challenge everything from the gender inequality in her family to the working conditions in New York City factories, Crowder audaciously tells Clara's story in a mix of free verse and concrete (shape-based) poetry, sometimes with as little as one word per line.

Readers, I'd love to know: What are some of your favorite unusual YA lit formats? How does the format work (or not work) with the content?

Locker Combinations is a Book Case feature by BookPage contributor and young adult (YA) literature expert Jill Ratzan. Using a variety of literary, cultural and educational perspectives, Jill guest blogs about the latest in YA lit and the general direction, trends and changes of the field. Read more BookPage reviews, interviews and posts by Jill here.

Posted by Jill Ratzan on March 16, 2015

Last month, I had the pleasure of talking with Andrew Smith, author of the recently released The Alex Crow, the 2015 Printz Honor book Grasshopper Jungle, the National Book Award semifinalist 100 Sideways Miles and other mind-bending, norm-challenging books for young adult (YA) readers. Our conversation was so packed with terrific stuff that some of the best parts didn't fit in the March issue of BookPage. So here are a few more highlights.

Even though the Printz announcement was yet to come at the time we talked, Smith and I spoke at length about Grasshopper Jungle. This book, he said, has acquired a unique following among adult readers, many of whom express the same sentiment. "One of the most common email subjects that I ever get from readers is, 'I really wish that a book like Grasshopper Jungle had been written when I was 15 or 16 years old. It would have really changed my life.'"

This effect is even more meaningful in light of Grasshopper Jungle's own backstory. The novel, Smith told me, wasn't originally meant for publication—instead, it started out as an exercise to prove a point. After being accused in a 2011 Wall Street Journal article of writing books that were too violent and scary for teen readers, Smith decided that he wanted to respond in a unique way. "In the summer of 2011, what could possibly be darker than what was really going on in middle America?" he asked. "Towns were being closed down because of the recession, and people were losing their homes." If he was going to be accused of dark subject matter, Smith figured, he might as well write about something really dark.

Smith is on a roll; he's published three books in a little over a year, always finishing one before starting another. "I think my style is evolving," he told me. "I think you can definitely see a maturation in the style and the structure and the tools that I've used compared to my earlier work." Changes in his personal life also "thread through all three of those books," including his son leaving for college while he wrote 100 Sideways Miles and being away at college while he wrote Grasshopper Jungle.

Smith also expanded on his point about gender in YA lit, specifically in The Alex Crow. All but one of the book's half-dozen settings is all-male, and the one setting that includes a woman portrays her as not much more than a highly caricatured plot device. So at first, The Alex Crow looks almost explicitly anti-female . . . until readers think more about how deeply flawed the gender-imbalanced settings truly are. "All of the narratives point out the failures of male societies . . . the [summer] camp, the survivors on the ship, the military, the refugee camp—all of these keep pointing out how misguided male-dominated societies have been," Smith explained.

Smith cautioned readers not to confuse his opinions as an adult writer with the sometimes "sexist, misogynous . . . immature . . . impulsive" voices of his teenage characters, especially when these voices are talking about girls and women. Specifically, when a teenage boy narrator (like Ariel in The Alex Crow or Austin in Grasshopper Jungle) views a female character as one-dimensional, uninteresting or seemingly existing only to move his own story along, it's the character talking, not Smith himself. This subtle distinction—or rather, its lack—comes up repeatedly in the criticism against Smith, including a recent controversy sparked by an interview with journalist Hugh Ryan.

Despite this distinction, Smith said that he often finds himself becoming absorbed in his characters' identities. "When I'm working on [my books], they become so intense—almost like there's no line between myself and the people I'm writing about. When I'm writing something, I start to talk like my protagonist, and I might be wearing the same t-shirt that the person is talking about wearing. I need to make the words on the page ring so true, they need to sound like a real person—and so during that time, I need to be that person."

Finally, Smith touched on an area of which many teachers—and promoters of social media—will be glad to hear. "I hope that readers always have the opportunity to critically examine their reading by talking to somebody else about it, and asking questions to open up their interpretation of what's actually being put in front of them on the page."

Smith disabled his Twitter account following the recent controversy, but considering that reluctant teen readers like to connect with Smith on social media—and he always writes back—I hope he's back online soon. And I think I join the rest of Smith's fans in itching to know what he's going to write next.

Locker Combinations is a Book Case feature by BookPage contributor and young adult (YA) literature expert Jill Ratzan. Using a variety of literary, cultural and educational perspectives, Jill guest blogs about the latest in YA lit and the general direction, trends and changes of the field. Read more BookPage reviews, interviews and posts by Jill here.

Posted by Cat on March 06, 2015

It's been 10 years since the publication of Boy Proof, Cecil Castellucci's groundbreaking young adult debut, now one of Time magazine's 100 Best Young Adult Books of All Time. Ten years ago, sci-fi fans—especially young females—felt like they could let their geek flags fly after reading about Egg, who styles herself after the heroine of her favorite sci-fi movie, Terminal Earth, by dressing all in white, shaving her head and coloring her eyebrows. She's got her shields up—especially against boys. But then she meets Max.

Castellucci looks back on the book that defined her as an author and encouraged nerdy girls to stay weird while finding their courage:

Guest post by Cecil Castellucci

It begins at a bookstore: one of my favorite indie bookstores in Los Angeles, Skylight Books. When I was first trying to sell my first book and dreaming of becoming an author, I would walk to the store, which is funny because nobody walks in Los Angeles. I went there to haunt the shelves, paw the books and dream that maybe one day I would be an actual author. The staff was friendly and encouraging. They let me stay for hours.

In those early years of being a dreamer, they asked me to help out at inventory. I came in to support, but also needing the grocery money to help clean the store and count and shelve the books. I still do inventory with them every year—15 years and counting. I had written two novels and a picture book that had not sold. I was blue. And poor. And dreaming. Somewhere in fiction while I was dusting and lamenting my rejections both by the book industry and gentleman suitors. Then Steven Salardino, the manager of the bookstore and now a dear friend, turned to me and said, “You should write a book called Boy Proof and the boy should be named Max.” Instead of shrugging him off, or throwing a dust rag at him, I said, “OK,” and set about to do it.

The title had struck me deep in my core. And as a nerdy girl myself, I had felt like that growing up and wanted to write a book about a girl who was a true nerd and the star of the book, not the sidekick or the best friend. A girl who, like me felt a little boy proof. I wanted to write the book that I had needed and wasn’t there when I was growing up geek. I had a few loose threads in my head that I thought I could pull on to make a story.

While time coding for my friends production transcript company, I had seen footage of a girl who dressed up as Trinity from the Matrix movies. To give myself swaths of time to write, I was an extra in movies and once got a call to interview to be a child ape on Tim Burton’s Planet of the Apes. I was not chosen to be an ape. (Tim Burton’s loss, to be sure!) The interview was at special effects make-up artist Rick Baker's studio, which was truly inspiring. Living in Hollywood with all of this buzz of making it and reinvention made me think to back to when I was in high school. I had a great friend whose mother, a famous singer and actress, was making her big comeback, and there was a boy I was too shy to figure out how to make my boyfriend who sat next to me in math class. His name was not Max, but the shadow memory of him was a place to start.

I put those things together to write a book called Boy Proof about a girl named Egg who dressed as the main character of her favorite sci-fi movie. Who loved post-apocalyptic movies and read comic books. Who felt uncomfortable around the new boy. Whose dad was a special effects make-up artist. Whose mom was a TV star making a comeback. A nerdy girl who lets down her guard to let love in.

Posted by Jill Ratzan on February 09, 2015

It's February, and everyone has their favorite literary couples: Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester. Sometimes the best duos are the ones you'd never think had anything in common . . . like, who would've thought that Ron and Hermione would stop fighting long enough to fall in love?

Oh, it's just so difficult when everyone loves you. Where will the two medals go, anyway? Here's an attempt to pile them on via Mariko Tamaki's website.

With the recent announcement that This One Summer by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki had won both a Printz Honor and a Caldecott Honor—the first graphic novel to win the latter—these two supposedly irreconcilable seals now sit side by side on the book's cover. The young adult (YA) world is buzzing with debate over this pairing, but I'd like to suggest that it's a terrific chance to challenge assumptions about these awards, and to think about what happens when they come together. Here are three ideas worth considering.

The Caldecott has pushed boundaries before.

The Caldecott medal is awarded annually to the artist of the most distinguished American picture book for children, with Honor books considered to be similarly distinguished runners-up.

Most Caldecott winners and Honor books have looked like picture books—they've been 32 pages or so, and generally taller than they are long—and many are appropriate for preschool audiences. But in 2008, the Caldecott medal went to The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick, a book most likely to be enjoyed by late elementary school and early middle-school readers. Clocking in at a hefty 534 pages (and longer and almost wider than it is tall), Hugo Cabret was an unusual choice. And yet its detailed black and white drawings, and its mix of verbal and pictorial storytelling, could certainly be argued to be distinguished.

The two medals' criteria overlap in interesting ways.

In December, I'd predicted that This One Summer would walk away with the Printz award as the best book written for teens this year, based entirely on literary merit. Although "literary" seems at first to refer only to words, books that include both words and pictures have been recognized in the past. Consider American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang, the medal winner in 2007.

Similarly, while the Caldecott's "for children" designation seems at first to exclude teens, a deeper dig through its terms and criteria reveals that "children" is actually defined as "persons of ages up to and including fourteen" (possibly a holdover from before the Printz and other YA awards were established, or before YA lit as it's currently understood existed at all). While the Caldecott is usually thought of as a children's illustration-based award and the Printz as a YA word-based one, there's no definitional reason why an illustrated book aimed at 12- to 14-year-olds can't qualify for—and win—medals in both categories.

This One Summer is all about in-between-ness and liminality.

And if any book was the one to show how this overlap might work, it's Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki's monochromatic, intensely reflective graphic novel. As discussed on this blog series all the way back in November, narrator Rose's age is never actually specified. We know that her younger friend Windy is still very much a child and her aspirational "like eighteen"-year-old crush is too old for her, making Rose probably around 12.

But by writing (and drawing) Rose as an in-between character, the Tamaki cousins actively invite readers to think about liminality, or what it means to be part one thing and part another. Suspended between childhood and young adulthood, Rose is the perfect protagonist of a book that's the first ever to be recognized by both the Caldecott and the Printz committees.

Sure, there've already been calls to redefine the Caldecott criteria to include only books aimed at children 12 and under—and already questions of whether collections that're determined to buy every Caldecott book will wind up with a title that doesn't quite belong. But I think the dual recognition of This One Summer is great for the book, great for children's and YA lit, great for graphic novels and great for ongoing discussions about what these awards are . . . or should be. Like Ron and Hermione, these two opposites might have more in common than they first appear.

What do you think of This One Summer's dual win? Do you think young-leaning YA graphic novels should be eligible for the Caldecott? Tell us in the comments!

Locker Combinations is a Book Case feature by BookPage contributor and young adult (YA) literature expert Jill Ratzan. Using a variety of literary, cultural and educational perspectives, Jill guest blogs about the latest in YA lit and the general direction, trends and changes of the field. Read more BookPage reviews, interviews and posts by Jill here.

Posted by Jill Ratzan on January 20, 2015

Once upon a time, BookPage sent me a copy of The Kingdom of Little Wounds (originally marketed for ages 14 and up) to read and review for the October 2013 issue. After I read it, I got out my drum and cried, "But it's not YA!" Associate Editor Cat Acree and I emailed back and forth about this issue for a whole day, and we ended up with enough talking points to write a (very, very short) dissertation. Or, as she suggested, to stick it on the blog (here).

If you haven't been reading this series from its beginning, you probably aren't familiar with why we named it Locker Combinations. Here's why:

Locker Combinations is a way to "see inside" YA (young adult) literature.By opening a locker, sometimes you find meaningful objects, like photos and mementos. Sometimes you find useful objects, like pens and pencils; informative objects, like your history textbook; or secret objects, like that note your friend slipped between the grates. Sometimes you find gruesome objects, like those gym clothes you've been meaning to take home and wash. And sometimes you find a mirror, where you can see an image of yourself.

With only a few more days before the launch of BookPage's new teen e-newsletter, Yay! YA (you can sign up for it here), I was asked to share with readers what exactly is so great about YA lit—and why it resonates with me!

YA is a literature of transformation.

The new year is a time to think about transformations. But year-round, YA lit focuses on the space between being one thing and being another, with characters sometimes choosing one option unequivocally and other times finding a way to embrace both. Teens think about these issues . . . but adults do, too.

Normally when I talk with students about transformations in YA lit, we talk about teenage shapeshifters: werewolves, selkies, dragons, etc. But to me this year's best example of transformation in YA lit is less metaphorical: Girls Like Us by Gail Giles. Over the course of this short, accessible book, developmentally disabled high school graduates Biddy and Quincy and their recently widowed landlady Elizabeth gradually transform from characters weighed down by their pasts—and by the labels society has assigned them—into people who can build friendships and careers and find happiness despite obstacles.

YA is a literature of metaphor.

Veteran YA author Andrew Smith is no stranger to metaphor: The dark horrorscapes that mirror real world terrors in The Marbury Lens (and its companion novel Passenger) established him as a master of the form. Last year, though, Smith took metaphor to yet another level with Grasshopper Jungle, telling two stories, one about teenage boys and the other about giant hungry mutant praying mantises with only one thing on their minds. But are they really two stories, or is one a running metaphor for the other?

You don't have to be a teenager to appreciate the power of metaphor. Adult fiction deals with metaphor too, of course—especially in genres like fantasy, science fiction and horror—but YA's metaphors tend to be more immediate and closer to the surface. Like Smith's oversized insects, this makes them impossible to ignore.

YA is a literature of experimentation.

YA lit is often dismissed as more simplistic than adult fiction, but books like E. Lockhart's We Were Liars refute that notion.

Some stories have a beginning, a middle and an end, in that order. Sometimes only one story is being told at a time, and sometimes readers can trust a story's narrator to tell the truth. None of these are the case in Lockhart's postmodern, boundary-pushing YA novel. Narrator Cady's tale of summer friendship and romance on a privileged family's private island is constantly interrupted by flashbacks, bits and pieces of fairy tales and hints that a mysterious accident may be linked to sinister secrets that Cady's bouts of amnesia won't let her access. Lockhart's highly literary, experimental style challenges teen readers to create their own understandings out of disjointed, sometimes complimentary and sometimes contradictory narrative threads.

Lockhart's novel is only one of innumerable YA books that demonstrate that YA can be just as complex, nuanced and multilayered as literature written for adults.

YA is a literature of power.

How much power do teens—especially teenage girls—have over their lives and the lives of others around them? Conversion by Katherine Howe explores this question through two parallel stories, one taking place at the time of the Salem witchcraft trials and the other set in a modern Massachusettes high school. In 1692 Salem, teen Ann Putnam Jr. finds herself at the heart of the town's witchcraft hysteria, while in the present day an unexplained neurological illness is creating panic at all-female St. Joan's Academy. Are the sick girls—and the supposed witches' victims—being controlled by outside forces, or have they been the ones in control all along?

Determining, negotiating and reworking questions of social power are definitely not the exclusive purview of teens. Adult power dynamics can be so complicated, and can have such high stakes, that reading about teens who change the world is a good way to put things in perspective.

YA is a literature of identity.

In some ways, the issue of identity is central to all of YA lit. Consider Noggin by John Corey Whaley: Sixteen-year-old Travis, dying of leukemia, has agreed to an experimental, last-chance treatment. His head has been attached to another teenager's formerly-dead body. In part because the body he inhabits isn't his original one—and in part because five years have elapsed since his head was frozen and then thawed—Travis quickly finds that a lot of rethinking is in store. Although the premise sounds silly, Travis' identity struggle (and his highly punnish sense of humor) will resonate with any teen who's ever wondered who they really are.

And who doesn't sometimes feel like they're walking around in a body that's completely different than what's in their head?

Reading YA lit, especially recent books that accent some of the most interesting ideas that YA tackles, is a great way to get through the winter doldrums. And if your 2015 New Year's resolution is to read more YA (and why shouldn't it be?), don't forget to subscribe to Yay! YA to learn about the latest reviews, author interviews and web exclusives on BookPage.com. Happy reading!

Locker Combinations is a Book Case feature by BookPage contributor and young adult (YA) literature expert Jill Ratzan. Using a variety of literary, cultural and educational perspectives, Jill guest blogs about the latest in YA lit and the general direction, trends and changes of the field. Read more BookPage reviews, interviews and posts by Jill here.

The Printz

The Printz Award recognizes each year's best book written for teen readers, based entirely on literary merit. Up to four second-place Honor books can also be named. Established in 2000 to help bring legitimacy and visibility to books for teens, it's the highest award in YA lit.

What I think will win: This One Summer by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki.

BookPage loved this monochromatic graphic novel about happenings large and small in the beachfront town where teenage Rose and her parents spend every summer. Reviewer Molly Horan writes that the story "perfectly captures . . . the dawning realization that no matter how static a place may stay, the process of growing up forces a change in feelings and perceptions."

On School Library Journal's award speculation blog Someday My Printz Will Come, librarian Sarah Couri has also tagged This One Summer as a good Printz candidate, and I completely agree with her reasons:

It flawlessly combines visual and verbal storytelling.

It balances strong characterization with gentle plotting.

It alludes to everything from maiden/mother/crone folklore typologies to shojo manga to horror movie tropes.

It delves into the messy issues of emerging sexuality in honest and multifaceted ways.

With six starred reviews, it's garnered its share of critical acclaim.

To these reasons I'd add two of my own. At the risk of getting too academic, children's and young adult literature is traditionally defined by its lack of authenticity. Although it's written for young readers, it's written by adults. But occasionally an authentic piece of childhood culture will creep into an adult-authored piece, as when Rose and her friend Windy play the aspirational pencil-and-paper game M.A.S.H. (Mansion Apartment Shed House). Lots of preteens (or readers who were once preteens) will recognize this game, but many won't have seen it mentioned in a book before.

And, as discussed on this blog last month, narrator Rose's age is never actually stated. This intentional lack of information forces readers to actively engage with the text (and the illustrations) to figure out for themselves Rose's place among the other characters. In scholarly parlance, this facilitates active, participatory meaningmaking.

So far, Printz medals have always been won by single authors (although author Daniel Handler and illustrator Maira Kalman shared a Printz Honor for Why We Broke Up in 2012). Maybe the time has come for a creative team—like cousins Jillian Tamaki and Mariko Tamaki—to take home the gold. And since a graphic novel has won the Printz Award before (American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang in 2007), the committee may be open to naming another sequential art winner.

Can I pick another? I'm doing it anyway . . . but this one's more of an outside contender: Complicit by Stephanie Kuehn.

Speaking of authentic preteen pasttimes, Kuehn's books are like those origami fortune tellers you might have made in middle school (or might have read about in the middle grade hit The Secret of the Fortune Wookie: An Origami Yoda Book by Tom Angleberger). Each flap unfolds to reveal something interesting, until one final unfolding turns the entire structure inside out.

Complicit, a suspenseful psychological thriller about a teen investigating a fire set by his sister, features an unreliable narrator with unusual psychosomatic symptoms and a past speckled with violence and loss. It stands out, even in a year with other strong unreliable narrators (like We Were Liars by E. Lockhart and Love Is the Drug by Alaya Dawn Johnson), and holds its own in comparison to older, similar works like Invisible by Pete Hautman. And even though I suspected that, like Kuehn's 2013 Morris Award-winning Charm & Strange, Complicit would have a twist at the end, I still finished the story feeling turned inside out . . . in a good way.

The Morris

A relative newcomer to the scene (it was first awarded in 2009), the Morris Award honors YA debuts. Unlike the Printz, the Morris Award publishes a list of five finalists each year during the first week of December.

I'm rooting for The Scar Boys by Len Vlahos. Told in the form of a college admission essay, it's the story of a teen boy falling in love with music and finding himself after trauma. The book, inspired by the author's own experience touring with a band, is set in the 1980s—which means lots of pop culture references (and no cell phones!). Even in a year where high-profile titles like Andrew Smith's Grasshopper Jungle also address friendship among boys, Vlahos' treatment of the topic still stands out.

What YA books would you love to see recognized by these, or other, YA lit awards? Let us know in the comments!